Chapter Text
Roel Arnen had only been living in Claude for a couple of weeks, but he was already beginning to think of it as home. Lady Lamille’s family was nothing but welcoming and charming, even though they were nearly all as… exuberant… as she was. And it certainly helped that Armi seemed to be everyone’s darling.
Yes, the city was beginning to feel like home. Roel even knew the way to Lady Lamille’s favorite patisserie, which he was currently returning from, a dessert box tucked safely into a bag hanging on the side of his wheelchair. Few of the citizens of Claude seemed to recognize him on sight, and so he was free to meander a bit and take in the sights without fear of anyone pointing and whispering.
That would ordinarily be the case, but there had been rain the whole week, and Roel took it upon himself to venture out into the city and pick up a cake to cheer Lady Lamille up—she’d been gloomy and glaring up at the clouds every time they covered up the sun. There’d been a break in the weather, finally, but the grounds were too muddy for any decent outdoor activity, and if Roel hadn’t seen her in a worse mood before, he would think that was her lowest point.
Hence: cake.
Roel pushed himself along the road, taking in the earthy smell of the city, the way the stone felt different under the wheels of his chair compared to the pathways around the Claude estate. He heard a distant rumble, and quickened his pace. The estate was in sight, but he still had no desire to get caught out in the rain and risk ruining Lamille’s cake. So focused on the pastry’s safety was he that he didn’t notice the missing bricks on the edge of the road ahead, and the yelp that escaped him when he felt his chair suddenly dip and tilt was very undignified.
“Oh—good grief,” Roel moaned, leaning over to watch as his wheel started to sink into the mud. It wasn’t enough to tip his chair over entirely, but there was no chance he would be able to get unstuck on his own. He should have told someone he was going out, even just to have someone look for him if he wasn’t back by the time the rain resumed. But they’d seemed busy, and Lady Lamille was on the verge of a small tantrum, so he’d just gone off on his own.
“Good sir!” a voice called out, and he whipped his head around, shoulders sagging with relief as he saw three fellows approaching from a covered patio. The speaker wore a flat cap and seemed to be a laborer, judging by his clothes and burly build. “You seem to be in a spot of bother! Would you care for some help?”
Roel’s face grew warm with shame, but he nodded. “I, I’d really appreciate it…” As ever, his disability forcing others to go out of their way didn’t sit well with him, but he had no other choice. He’d at least offer the three some coin for their trouble.
“No worry, no worry,” a second man said, resting an arm on the back of his chair. The third circled around to the side of the chair stuck in the mud, and he and the first grabbed hold of the wheels while the second moved to grip the handles. “On three, now, gents. One, two—“
On “three,” hands shifted from the wheels to Roel’s upper arms, and he was violently heaved out of the chair, the heels of his hands sliding on the slick stones as he tried to catch himself. “What—what are you doing?!” he cried out, struggling to turn himself around. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Never been mugged before, rich boy?” Flat-Cap asked, lifting up the bag from the side of the chair and starting to pull things out of it. “If not, your first time’s on me. Hey, this is from the good bakery!”
Roel paled, seeing him pull out the dessert box. “Please—take all the money if you like, but leave the cake,” he begged. His legs felt more useless than ever as he dragged himself away from the two other muggers. “That’s supposed to be a gift.” He looked around, desperate for any bystanders who might help, but it looked like people had retreated inside ahead of the approaching rain.
“Oh, yeah?” One of the other two squatted down next to him, tilting his head. Roel recognized the malice on his face. “How’re you gonna deliver it? You might as well let us take it since your fancy chair’s stuck and you’ll have to crawl home.”
“Please!” Roel half-instinctively reached for his aura, for anything to keep Lady Lamille’s gift safe, but he was, as ever, met with a wall of numb agony that made him drop onto the ground with a heavy shudder. Tears prickled in the corners of his eyes. The Claude family had done so much for him, and he wasn’t even able to do one thing in return without it going wrong.
He heard a rough laugh from one of the two above him. “Hey, Myle, he looks like he’s about to cry.”
Roel looked up. Flat-Cap—Myle—had opened the dessert box, and his finger bore a heavy swipe of chocolate frosting. He popped that finger in his mouth, staring Roel dead in the eye, and with an exaggerated lick of the lips, he said, “Give him something to really cry about, gents. See how much fun he has crawling home with a broken arm.”
“No!” Roel cried out, pushing himself up and lunging for Myle. He managed to grab hold of his trouser leg, clawing for the box like a starved dog after a drumstick. Myle stumbled, off-balance, and the box went tumbling out of his hands, landing on the wet pathway. Roel watched in despair as the beautiful cake flopped out with a wet noise, rapidly losing shape.
He couldn’t even protect a damn cake. He should have just let them walk off with it and crawled back to the estate with a broken arm. It would have been better than ever admitting his failure to Lady Lamille.
Numb, he watched as Myle stomped on the cake for good measure, sending chocolate frosting and edible pearls everywhere. He didn’t even struggle when the other two hauled him up by his arms again and dragged him into the nearby alley, but the crack of breaking wood as his chair was thrown onto its side was a sharp reminder of the danger he himself was in. He slapped away the hand coming for his arm, but another hand found purchase in his hair, forcing him to look up at his attackers. His left wrist was grabbed, arm wrenched behind his back, and Roel saw violent glee on their faces as one of them pulled a truncheon from his belt and slammed it against his right arm until something snapped.
Roel’s scream was matched only by the crack of thunder overhead, and his tears were drowned out by the downpour as the muggers continued their assault.